


Satinalia Surprise

by tklivory



Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Cullrian [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character(s), Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Romantic Friendship, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: In an attempt to dig himself out of a slump, Dorian makes a phone call that changes the lives of both people involved.NOTE: The rating really only applies to chapter 5. The rest of the fic is fluffy T goodness.Written for Squirrelwolf (willowfire) for a Secret Santa exchange on the Cullrian discord!
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Cullrian [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/309441
Comments: 59
Kudos: 114





	1. Rock Bottom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squirrelwolf (willowfire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowfire/gifts).



Dorian started as someone tapped his shoulder, pulling his mind from the depths of the rabbit hole he'd fallen down during the course of his work so he could look up at the woman standing next to him. "Pardon?" he asked, realizing that she'd asked a question he'd completely missed as he'd wandered back to reality.

An amused expression came to Evelyn's face. "I asked if you were going to stay longer," she told him. "Everyone else has gone home."

"Ah." Dorian glanced around the small office a bit guiltily. He vaguely remembered everyone leaving, and even recalled offering a distracted farewell or two, but he'd been so involved in his actuarial number crunching that he hadn't even realized that the time for dinner had come and gone.

Evelyn frowned and reached out to put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure you’re all right?" she asked quietly. "You've been in your own little world since last week."

"Hm? Oh." Dorian offered her a brilliant smile. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Just trying to catch up with all these changes before the year end. You know how it is."

"We _all_ have to do that, Dorian," she reminded him. "But no one else is putting in the hours you are." Her eyes studied his face for a long, drawn-out moment. "Need to talk?"

_Need?_ Yes. _Want?_ "There's no need to bother yourself with me," he told her warmly. "Besides, you're my boss. I can't go crying on your shoulder every time I experience a little bump in the road."

A sterner expression came to her face as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Breaking off an engagement is a lot more than just a _little bump in the road.”_

Dorian kept his smile in place. "Yes, but I can’t sit around and wallow in my own self-pity forever. I’ll be fine. Now go on." He made shooing motions. "Go home. I won't be here too much longer, I promise. I just want to finish the Theirin account while I've still got all the numbers bouncing around in my head."

Evelyn's frown deepened, but finally she sighed. "I get it. You’re not ready to talk about it. Just...keep us in mind, hmm?" She hesitated for a moment, then leaned in. "And if I need to take another weekend trip away while you spend some time with Bull, let me know. He won't mind."

From anyone else, the suggestion would have been offensive, but he knew Evelyn--and Bull--too well to take it as anything but a genuine concern. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'll keep that in mind."

She squeezed his shoulder for a long moment, then walked to her office, ticking off the light as she grabbed her jacket. "Don't stay too late, Dorian," she admonished him, then left.

Dorian waited until the click of her heels faded, then sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn't ready to return home, not yet--the echoes yet lingering there still spoke of too many things he'd prefer to forget. His hand reached for the phone, then just as quickly pulled back. _No. He won't answer. And I told myself I wouldn’t go crawling back again. Not this time._

With a sigh, Dorian dove back into his work. Theirin was an important client, after all, with an extensive portfolio and a willingness to throw money at problems until they went away.

_And handsome._

Dorian shut that thought down ruthlessly, instead bending to his task with a renewed diligence as he sought to push away all the errant thoughts crowding his mind. Deeper and deeper he dove, working with the numbers until they danced exactly in the fashion he desired. The anxiety melted away as he worked his mathematical magic, the magic for which Evelyn had hired him despite the rather unfortunate circumstance of their meeting, until finally the numbers had arranged themselves as neatly on the screen as could be managed.

Theirin would be happy, Dorian was sure of that. At least, after Evelyn explained everything to him. That's where _her_ magic lay.

Dorian glanced at the clock and winced at the sight of the hour hand approaching its zenith. A sudden urge to ease the cotton in his mouth and the pressure on his bladder drove him from his chair. Given the urgency, he attended to the latter before stumbling wearily to the water cooler and flicking the dongle to fill a cup with the rather tepid water. As he sipped, his eyes wandered over the bulletin board hanging above the cooler, staring blankly at the things that had been posted for weeks without actually seeing them as he strove to keep his mind carefully blank.

His eyes settled on one of the flyers pinned to the bulletin board, and gradually it sank in to his tired brain that _this_ flyer was new, and, according to his tired brain, that meant he had to _read_ it. It took a few tries to actually do so, but in the end he realized it was another one of Josie's cheerful ways to try to help the employees. But then, she _was_ in Human Resources, and that was literally her job.

_Studies show that people can sometimes feel their worst during the holiday season. If you're feeling overwhelmed, please call one of the hotlines below! There are people standing by at all hours of the day, waiting to help you!_

Dorian’s eyes glazed as he looked at the dizzying list of hotlines Josephine had assembled for the flyer, then gulped the rest of his water down and crumpled the paper cup in his hand to throw out. Still he lingered, staring at the flyer with a frown as he pondered, for a brief moment, how he felt. He had friends, of course, wonderful friends who could--and had--offered him everything he could have asked for.

If he asked.

And _that_ was deucedly hard to do this time. It was one thing to cry on a friend’s shoulder after a bad breakup, and if that had been the only thing to happen, he’d be with Felix or Mae now, as he had before. But this time it felt different. More than just the end of a relationship. The betrayal burned hot in his mind, the sight of another man pinned under his fiancé on _their_ soon-to-be marriage bed too fresh an image to expunge completely, and too raw to talk about.

His hand trembled as he reached out and lightly touched the paper on the bulletin board. He could, he knew, go home tonight and repeat the same night he’d had ever since Rilienus had left with only a bag of clothes slung over his shoulder. A bottle of wine, or two, or three--however many it took to sleep for a few hours slumped on the couch because sleeping on the bed felt _wrong_ \--before he stumbled in to work and let the numbers push everything else away. It was an existence.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t a life.

Before he could give it a second thought, Dorian quickly tugged the paper off the board and shoved it into his pocket, then went to his desk and quickly tidied up before heading out. The night held more than a hint of chill, given they were only a week from the start of Satinalia, and he was shivering by the time he made it to his car.

* * *

Dorian barely remembered the ride home beyond the dread that filled the pit of his stomach the closer he got. By the time he’d actually forced himself to go into the empty townhouse and stare at the clothes strewn across the floor along with shards of a vase and long dead roses he still hadn’t cleaned up, his mind had already distanced itself from the place. Beyond stepping carefully around the broken porcelain, he did nothing more than set his briefcase on the table by the door before moving to the wine cellar closet to grab a bottle of wine and a glass before moving to the couch.

Half a bottle later, his phone abruptly broke the overwhelming silence as it chirped to announce a new text. He jumped in drunken surprise, sloshing most of a glass of wine all over himself, and scrambled to grab the phone. While he couldn’t say that he _wanted_ to hear from Rilienus again, not after everything he’d done and everything they’d said to each other, he also couldn’t deny that a small part of him desperately wanted to melt into the man’s arms again.

Dorian winced as he saw the name on the sender. _Of course. Felix._ His shift at the bar would be just about over right about now, and he’d checked in on Dorian on his way home the night before to find him deep in his cups. With an effort, Dorian forced himself to close the wine bottle and put it in the kitchen before retreating to the couch again, staring at the ceiling above him as he tried to summon up the will to talk to his friends about this particular problem.

He just... _couldn’t._ Not yet.

Suddenly he thought of that flyer he’d pulled from the bulletin board at work, and stumbled to where he’d left his clothes on the floor. Tugging it out of the pocket, he smoothed it onto the table next to the couch and stared at it for a few moments, eyes skipping through the numbers until finally he covered his eyes and danced his fingertip around the paper until it felt _right._ Only then did he pull out his phone again and quickly dial in the number, ignoring precisely _what_ hotline he was calling in favor of just _doing it._

The phone rang long enough that Dorian began to wonder if the person at the other end had fallen asleep, or perhaps even stepped away for a quick break. When someone finally did pick up the line, Dorian heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, followed by a deep, "Hello?"

Since he'd been expecting something a bit more formal than that--an organization's name, perhaps, or even the operator's name--Dorian balked a bit, thumb drifting close to the hangup button as he again wondered if he'd made the right call. _Surely I'm just bothering someone having a nice quiet night..._

In the silent interim, the man on the other side of the call cleared his throat again, then repeated his greeting. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Dorian's weary mind could not bear to continue the insufferable rudeness of silence, and automatically supplied, "Yes, I'm sorry. I just wasn't sure if I should bother you. Ah, I've...I've never done this before." There was a long silence at the other end, broken only by the sound of cloth rustling and the sound of--was that a lighter clicking? The next sound, that of a long, drawn out exhale of a smoker, confirmed his guess, and Dorian felt guilty once more. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

"What? Oh, no." The man chuckled, an oddly breathy sound that sounded quite genuine. "No, I was just-- Never mind. It's not important." Even as curiosity wormed its way into Dorian's brain, though, the man said, "What did you mean, you haven't done this before?"

"Ah. Well. Call someone like _you_ before," Dorian explained, suddenly feeling nervous again.

"There’s no shame in being desperate," the man said in a matter-of-fact tone. “So. What do you need?”

Well. It wasn't precisely the way a professional counselor would begin a therapy session, but then again, if it was a volunteer-based organization, the man was likely not a professional. Besides, the question was enough to make Dorian really come face to face with the reasons why he'd called in the first place. Closing his eyes for a moment, he swallowed harshly. “I need...help."

Again there was a pause, and Dorian wondered if the man was referring to a script of some sort. After another long, drawn out exhale, the man said, "What's on your mind?"

Dorian hesitated, worried that his problems were...well, _boring_. Normal. There wasn't anything overwhelming, just a general malaise which arose from a host of smaller annoyances and sad moments. "It's...not anything elaborate, really," he said slowly. "But with the holidays coming up, and having to watch everyone else get ready to be with their loved ones, it just...feels like I'm missing something."

There was a brief silence at the other end of the line, followed by another long exhale. "Family?" he guessed. "It's easy to miss them if they're distant."

Dorian bit his lip. "We're...estranged," he confessed. "I haven't spoken to them in...oh, years, now. My mother sends me a letter once in a while, but it's not the same." His eyes drifted to the kitchen counter, and the unopened envelope still sitting on it, then jerked away. "Besides, even if I did speak to them, it would have to be on their terms, not mine, and I don't really want that."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the man said softly, tone sincere. "It's been a while since I spoke with my family, but that's more my fault than anyone's."

Something about the man's somewhat sheepish tone made Dorian smile faintly. "I take it you are a poor correspondent?"

A raspy chuckle echoed in Dorian's ear. "According to my sister, the worst. Maybe...maybe I should call her."

"Oh, you definitely should," Dorian told him. "And tell her that you called because a strange man on an anonymous phone call told her you should."

"Which is _marginally_ better than a strange man on the internet," the other man noted in a wry tone. "I'll do that."

The silly exchange made Dorian feel oddly better, and the smile lingered on his lips. "Good. I'll expect a report later."

The other man's voice grew more serious as he replied, "Then you'll call back when you're ready to talk about the rest of it?"

_The rest of it._ "How did you--"

"A hunch more than anything. I just get the feeling there's more going on with you than you've told me." There was the sound of another long exhale. "Unless you're ready to talk about it now."

Dorian closed his eyes, again remembering he'd come home to find Rilienus-- _No._ No, he wasn't ready. "Will you answer if I call again?" Surely it was more than just this one man with his soothingly raspy voice manning the line, wasn't it?"

"If you make the call from the same phone, I'll pick it up. I promise," the other man assured him.

_Ah. Caller ID._ Feeling a little foolish for having forgotten, Dorian sagged on the couch. "It _is_ late," he admitted, his eyes seeking out the blu-ray player. _4:45? Maker!_ "In fact, I need to leave for work in an hour."

"Good luck with that," the man said with a chuckle. "Hopefully you have an understanding boss."

"Oh, she is. But I don't like to let her down," Dorian said, even as he realized just how _hollow_ his body felt, a dull realization that he was more tired than he had let himself admit.

"Then don't," the other man said gently. "Take care of yourself for a day and go back when you're ready."

"It's your job to tell me to do that," Dorian said in a teasing tone.

The other man chuckled. "What, I'm not allowed to care for you just because we only started talking an hour ago?"

"It's been over an hour," Dorian protested, feeling the hollowness spread to more of his body as it strengthened the demand for sleep. "We're practically chums now."

The other man barked a short, gruff laugh. "And you're practically giddy with exhaustion."

The words made Dorian blinked. _How did the man know?_ Or was it just _that_ obvious? Dorian glanced at the clock again, squinting until the numbers swam into focus. _4:48._ "You may be on to something," he murmured.

"Then go to sleep. That's an order," the man told him in a firm tone that nevertheless warmed Dorian for some reason. "That's the last bit of help I'll give you on this call."

"Yes, _sir,"_ Dorian said with a laugh, though the fact that the man's tone held more than a bit of polished command to it didn't hurt, either. And his eyes _were_ dragging. "Then I shall bid you goodnight. And...thank you."

There was a moment of silence on the other side before the response came in an oddly subdued voice. "You asked for help. How could I refuse?"

It was an oddly poignant moment, though Dorian couldn't put into words _why._ "Regardless, you were the soothing voice in the night which I sorely needed." A distant part of him wondered if that were too much, or too inappropriate given the circumstances--after all, he was talking to someone on a helpline, after all--but in the end he was too tired to care. "Perhaps we shall speak again."

A raspy chuckle answered him. "Go to sleep." And then the call ended, the time showing on the phone now almost an accusation.

For a minute or twoDorian he stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the brief respite from being swallowed by his problems. He wouldn't go so far as to call the man a true friend, of course--he was, after all, just a telephone operator for a depression hotline. Still, Dorian's spirits had lifted a bit, and he felt better than he had all week.

Shaking himself awake, Dorian quickly tapped out an apologetic text to Evelyn, explaining that although he _had_ finished the Theirin end-of-year reporting, he was too tired to come in to work and would need to take the day off. After tapping the send button, he let the phone drop onto the table as he collapsed into the couch. He wasn't ready to sleep alone in his bed _quite_ yet, but for now, at least, he knew that at least _one_ other person out there cared about his wellbeing, no matter how perfunctory the care might be.

A pity he didn't know the man's name, of course. A voice like that deserved a name to go with it. And a face. As his thoughts drifted towards, Dorian wondered what the man looked like, and if, indeed, a face could match up to such a voice.

Regardless, he was thankful, and hoped that they would, indeed, speak again.


	2. Looking Up

Cullen stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment, only dimly aware that his cigarette continued to burn between his fingers. It was only when he felt a burning itch that he yelped and quickly snuffed it out in the overflowing ashtray, then sucked at the small burn next to the callous on his middle finger as he again stared at his phone.

“And how did you get that number?” he mused aloud in soft tones. It was unlisted--had been for years, ever since he’d walked away from his Chantry duties and sought a different life. Only a handful of people had the number, none of whom were the man who had called him so unexpectedly. Cullen had kept the phone charged, of course, _just in case,_ but no one had reached out to him--not since the aftermath of the events at Haven, anyway.

But the man had been so charming, despite the obvious strain in his voice, that Cullen found himself unable to simply send the man on his way--even if it was clear that he _hadn’t_ called to retain Cullen’s particular services. Deep down, Cullen hoped that the man would call back.

“Who was that?” a groggy voice asked from the doorway, and Cullen glanced up. Garrett loomed large in the doorway, shirtless but not pantless, scratching his hair idly as he leaned against the doorframe. “You talked to them for a while. New client?”

“Not this one, no,” Cullen said, setting the phone down. “Different phone.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow. “That was your priest phone? Huh. Didn’t think it _could_ ring anymore.”

“The number’s unlisted, but a few people still have it. I just never really expected them to use it.” Cullen’s shoulders rose and fell. “That’s not important. Did I wake you?”

Garrett yawned, shaking his head as he forced the rest of it out. “Nah. Isa got restless. You know how she is right before the sun comes up.”

Cullen rolled his eyes slightly as he gathered his phone and papers and stood. “I’ll leave you to take over manning the phones, then. That client in Nevarra was supposed to call back with details about our next target, and he’s paying well. Don’t let Isabela distract you _too_ much.”

Hawke shot him a grin. “We got that out of the way already.”

“I don’t need the details,” Cullen said hastily.

“You know you’re always welcome to join in, right?” Garrett told him with a slow wink. “Or ask either of us for another favor? It’s been a while since either of us _helped_ you, you know.”

Cullen groaned and rubbed his face with his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When a hand landed on his shoulder, he looked up in surprise to see Garrett looking down at him with a furrowed brow. "You do know we're here for you, right? For more than just a quick tumble. I didn't drag you out of that mess in Kirkwall just because you had a nice ass. Which you _do."_

"I know," Cullen told him with a faint smile.

"Do you remember there's more to life than our job?" Garrett asked. "And I'm not talking about sex. Well. _Mostly_ I'm not talking about sex."

With a chuckle, Cullen reached up to pat the hand resting on his shoulder. "I like our job," he said as he pushed himself to his feet. "It keeps me occupied, and that's all I need."

Garrett looked more than a bit dubious, but he stepped back to give Cullen room. "Well, just keep it in mind. The offer, and the other stuff."

"I will. Promise." With a final nod to Garrett, Cullen moved down the corridor to his side of their shared house, not even noticing the slight limp in his step as he did so. 

As he closed the door behind him, his eyes automatically sought out the phone lying next to his bed--his _personal_ line, not the burner. For a long moment he simply stared at the phone, the conversation with the mystery man playing back in his head. Suddenly the years stretched out behind and in front of him, filled with a lonely emptiness that had once been at least partially filled by the smile of his sister and the good-natured teasing of his brothers. Normally, those memories didn't move him, desperate as he was to leave all aspects of his past life at more than an arm's length away.

_Normally._

His face settled into a determined expression. _Not today._

It was only a matter of a few steps to close the distance to the phone, and before he lost his nerve, he'd dialed the number still in his memory, praying for the first time in quite a while that the number was still good. After a few rings, his hope started to fade. After all, it _had_ been years. A lot could happen.

Then someone answered, and a cheerful woman's voice said, "Hello, whoever you are, and no, I'm not going to buy whatever you're selling."

The words were so unexpected that Cullen burst into laughter, though it held a fair share of relief as well, since he recognized the voice. Before she could hang up, though, he quickly cleared his throat and said, "Mia? It's Cullen."

There was a long silence on the other end, and in the background he heard the sound of children--yes, definitely more than one--chattering in the background. Finally, in a voice choked with tears, Mia whispered, "Cullen? Is it really you?"

_Maker. Why did I wait so long?_ After taking a deep breath, Cullen took the phone in a firmer grip and sat down, deciding he needed the support for what was to come. “It is. I...I’ve been thinking about you.”

The next hour--or two, or three, since he had to take a nap here or there in between all the calls--proved to be full of more talking than he’d done in one stretch in...well, in _years._ He hadn’t spoken to them since he’d left his prior calling, after all, and likely wouldn’t have picked up the phone if he hadn’t heard the quiet despair in the voice of the man on the phone when he’d talked about _his_ family. Granted, the shell that kept him apart from his family had been cracking very, very slowly for a while, but hearing what _could_ be the end result of it if he kept the shell in place…

He shuddered and set the phone down, moving to the bathroom to get a drink of water and wash his face. Just as he was rinsing it off, however, his phone rang again, and he dashed towards the sound with a towel pressed to his face. After a hectic squinting-through-half-blinded-eyes swipe up to answer, he held the phone to his ear and said, “Sorry, sorry, I was just washing my face. Hello?”

There was a moment of silence, and then a chuckle Cullen could not call anything but _sexy_ filled his ear. “Did I catch you at a bad time again?”

_It was him._ Cullen froze in place, the towel half over his face as he quickly shoved his mind over from _family_ to...well, to whoever the man was. Realizing he hadn’t answered the question, Cullen moved blindly to his chair. “No, no, absolutely not, I was just--”

The problem with moving blindly was that, well, he couldn’t see where he was going. His leg caught on the edge of his bed, sending him tumbling onto the mattress with a yelp as the phone slipped from his grasp. Panicking, he rolled over and searched the floor for it, then under the bed, finally pulling it out from the dust and dark before pressing it to his ear again. “Hello? Are you still there? Sorry, I dropped the phone.”

Another of those deep chuckles answered him. “Are you _certain_ this isn’t a bad time? Perhaps you could--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Cullen insisted, finally collapsing into the well-worn grooves of his chair and rubbing his ankle where it had struck the bed frame. “I told you I’d be here if you called, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” the man murmured. 

Again Cullen wondered what the man looked like. His tone and accent spoke of a cultured upbringing, likely with quite a lot of money, which might explain why he had Cullen’s number in the first place. Cullen’s services didn’t come cheap, after all-- _especially_ when he’d worked under the auspices of the Chantry.

The Chantry didn’t hire out their hitmen for cheap, after all.

Still, he also hadn’t actually _mentioned_ Cullen’s services. If anything, he sounded like he was calling a mental health hotline, which was...odd to say the least.

Odd, but also refreshing. It had been a long time since he’d helped anyone in _that_ way, despite bearing the title of _priest._

Pulling himself together quickly, Cullen cleared his throat and fumbled the drawer of his nightstand open, reaching for something to take the edge off his pain. “I hope you stayed home,” he said in a mock-stern voice. “You sounded incredibly tired when last we spoke.” _However long ago that was._ After catching up with his family, it seemed forever ago in some ways.

“Ah, yes. I did, then woke up a short while ago with a wretched headache,” the man admitted. “I _may_ have nursed a half bottle of wine before calling you.”

Cullen frowned, concentrating a bit more on the conversation. “Why were you drinking that much?”

An uncomfortable silence fell, and then the other man sighed. "That's part of what I haven't told you," he admitted. 

Flicking his lighter open, Cullen lit his cigarette and took a long draw before blowing the blue smoke through his nose. "Well, then," he said quietly. "Perhaps you'd better tell me about that."

The long sigh which answered him held a depth of sorrow which wrenched at Cullen’s heart, as did the words which followed. "Shall I start before or after I found my beloved fiancé balls deep in another man?"

As he listened to the man stutter and stumble through the tale of love pieced together from tragedy and trust shattered in an instant, Cullen felt something within rouse from slumber. He recognized it instantly, that strong sense of _right and wrong_ he'd thought long dormant, and wondered at it, and why this particular man evoked it so strongly. While it was true that Garrett ensured their work wasn't arbitrary, Cullen had submerged himself into a callous, reactive purgatory which did what was necessary to progress to the next day.

The air around him filled with blue smoke as, again, the cigarette burned down between his fingers, a nervous habit learned from the days after he'd donned the collar, when the smell of blue smoke had mixed with that of gunpowder. Now, of course, it was a legacy, a reminder of a time he'd prefer to forget, but one to which his body stubbornly clung against all common sense. It did focus his thoughts, though, even as his distant heart both opened and ached for the unknown man with whom he spoke.

The man he desperately wanted to help, as the man had so unwittingly helped _him._

As the other man's recitation wound down, Cullen again felt his heart ache. The sense of loss and betrayal, of loneliness and bewilderment, darkened every word the man spoke, and Cullen couldn't help but feel the same emotions resonate in his very bones. It drew him in, giving him an odd sense of purpose beyond the cold calculation he used for the other aspects of his life. Someone _needed_ him again.

And it felt...good.

When silence fell, Cullen took another long draw on his cigarette, letting the blue fill his lungs for a moment before expelling it, and lifted the speaker close to his mouth once more. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said in a somber tone. "Betrayal is a deep and biting injury, and the road back is never easy. But there are things that will help you, I think, more than a bottle of wine or two every night."

That same dark chuckle echoed in his ear. "Why, you almost sound as if you've experienced something similar yourself."

"Something like that," Cullen murmured. "And the bottle and I were friends for a long, long time." Well, the bottle and several other _fascinating_ self-applied remedies, at least. "But then I found other, better friends. Friends who would pick me up off the floor instead of crashing me onto it; friends who would wipe away my tears instead of causing them." He paused, his eyes going to the door leading to where Garrett sat, manning the phones and developing the plans for their next job. "Friends worth dying for because they'd do the same of you."

The quick catch of breath told Cullen that his words had scored, and, hopefully, stirred something positive. With a faint smile, Cullen took the time for a long, leisurely draw on his cigarette, again blowing the blue smoke out through his nose. "Do you have anyone like that?"

"I...Yes, I rather think I do," the other man said slowly. "I simply hadn't looked at it in quite that light before."

"Maybe it's time to start thinking of them, or at least, turning to them instead of a wine glass." Reaching out to snuff out his nearly expended cigarette, Cullen added, "I'd be surprised if they hadn't been offering their help already."

"Oh, they have, it's just--" The man's sigh spoke volumes.

Cullen's expression softened. "There's nothing wrong with processing what you're feeling," Cullen said in a gentle voice. "The anger, the despair, the helplessness. Don't be afraid to let yourself feel it, and give yourself time to heal. Just promise me you won't forget about the light even while you wander in the darkness. All right?"

This time the silence lingered so long that Cullen wondered if the man had fallen asleep. It would make sense, after all, given what he'd told Cullen about his recent life. Then a shuddering breath echoed over the line. "Thank you. I think...I think I needed to hear someone tell me that. Rather silly of me, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Cullen assured him, his smile lingering. "Sometimes all we need in life is a little nudge in the right direction."

That rich chuckle filled his ear again. "Indeed. And I'm grateful that I somehow found the right stranger to do it. A minor miracle, it seems, hmm?"

The words made Cullen swallow harshly as he shook his head physically, for the moment forgetting that he couldn't be seen. "Not a miracle," he said, almost hastily. "I assure you, there is nothing miraculous about me."

"On that matter, I will be forced to quietly disagree with you," the other man said in a tone that was half-serious, half-teasing. "Though I admit, sleep beckons me once more. My body isn't nearly as forgiving of my abuse of it as you seem to be."

Cullen's disquiet quickly faded, replaced once more by the odd warmth he felt at the thought of helping the man. "Then go to sleep," he said with a firmness left over from a previous life. "That's an order."

"Yes, _sir,"_ the man replied with a laugh. "Though I have to ask, would it be too much to hope that if I call back, you will answer?"

"I'll be here," Cullen promised without hesitation. "I'll make sure of it." His mind tried to remind him that they were, in fact, due to go take care of that business in Nevarra as soon as they got the final coordinates, but he happily ignored the reminder for now. "Now shoo."

"I'm going, I'm--" A huge yawn interrupted the man's final rejoinder. "Right. I'm gone."

As silence suddenly filled Cullen's ear, he chuckled and looked again at the originating number, trying to glean some information on it. The name was unlisted, as so many were these days, but the area code... "Somewhere local, then," he murmured, frowning a bit. The man's accent didn't quite align with that, but if his relationship with his family was as poor as he'd let on, it made sense that he'd moved away from his place of origin.

With a sigh, Cullen pulled out another cigarette and set it between his lips. As he reached for the lighter, however, his eyes caught a hint of movement at his door and frowned. Silently he rose from the chair and moved to stand next to the door, pausing only long enough to grab the pistol hanging from his holster on the door to his closet. "Show yourself," he ordered, even as he brought the pistol into a ready position.

"Damn it, Rutherford," Garrett said, opening the door fully. "Your hearing is unho--" He paused, blinking as he saw the gun in Cullen's hand. "Hey, now, can't a man eavesdrop without fear of life and limb?"

With an explosive breath, Cullen dropped his hand. "I told you not to sneak up on me," he reminded Garrett as he shoved the pistol back home. "How long were you lurking there?"

"Long enough to be extraordinarily curious about who you were talking to," Hawke admitted. "You almost sounded like your old self again. The good part of it, anyway."

Cullen frowned in thought, thinking back to the conversation. "I suppose I did, didn't I? It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten."

Garrett's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he studied Cullen, gaze lingering on the unlit cigarette. "Feeling nostalgic? Having second thoughts?"

"No. To both." Rolling his shoulders, Cullen returned to the nightstand and dropped the cigarette into the drawer, closing it firmly as he avoided Garrett's gaze. "So did you just come to spy on me, or did something come up?"

A grin came to Garrett's lips. "The client called and gave me the last bit of information."

"Perfect. Give me a minute to get ready, and I'll be right out there." After Garrett left, Cullen wasted no time in dressing in his work clothes, designed for quiet, comfort, and the many pockets required for his gear. When he reached for his cellphone, he hesitated for a moment, then grabbed both of them, putting them on vibrate before shoving them deep into his vest pockets. The last step was his holster, tugging it on over his shoulders as he walked out to the main room.

There he found Garrett and Isabela, both dressed for the mission and ready to go. Without blinking an eye, Garrett tossed him an assault rifle, which Cullen caught with ease. "Lock and load, Rutherford. It's go time."

Cullen grinned. "Right behind you, Hawke." During the scramble of the next few minutes, Cullen let himself be lost in the preparation for the mission. It wasn't until the lull of the plane ride that he let his mind wander once more to the phone call and the mystery man on the other side of it.

And wonder why he wanted to talk to the man again.


	3. The Plot Thickens

Dorian awoke with a snort to the sound of a loud explosion, then groaned and rolled over as he realized that it was only his alarm escalating to the loudest sound his poor abused phone speakers could manage in a bid to wake him up. Wincing, he quickly deactivated the alarm and tossed his phone away, wondering if he could in any way justify taking another day off. Yesterday had seen him sleep for large stretches, broken only by the second phone call with that remarkable stranger, but it had been sleep sorely needed by a tired body.

Still, that was then, and this was now. After reluctantly acknowledging that he couldn't do that to Evelyn or his co-workers, Dorian forced himself from the warmth of his bed. A short, hot shower finished the process of waking up, and he even found himself humming during the drive to the office. He wouldn't go so far as to call his mood _cheerful,_ of course, but it was certainly improved from where it had been.

And he knew the exact reason why.

His hand moved to rest on his phone for a long moment after he parked his car, a smile lingering on his face. Whoever the other man was, Dorian thanked the stars that Josie had posted the flyer that allowed Dorian to connect with him, however random that chance had been. The thought buoyed him out of his car and all the way to his office.

Once there, he found a little note tacked on his monitor in Evelyn's elegant hand: _Come see me when you get in. I want to make sure I don't have to send you home right back home again, you nut._

Dorian chuckled as he tucked the note into his pocket, then set his lunch and jacket on the desk before heading towards Evelyn's office.

As he approached the door, he heard voices within, and slowed to listen long enough to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting anything more important than a mock-lecture from Evelyn about staying too late _again._

"--glad you caught that mistake, Evelyn," Josephine was saying. "I usually catch things like that but--"

"Don't worry, Josie," Evelyn said in soothing tones. "It was just a wrong number."

"Oh, but I'd already put the flyers up!" Jospehine fretted. "What if someone tried to call for help?"

"It was only one of the numbers available. I'm sure that, even if someone tried to call that number first, they would have quickly figured out it was wrong and moved on to one of the others. You're fine, Josie." Evelyn's voice raised in volume. "Don't think I don't see you lurking there, Dorian."

Dorian grinned and ducked his head into her office, though part of his brain mulled over what he'd heard the two women saying. "What gave me away?"

"Your shadow," she said with a grin. "You look better. Did you finally get some sleep?"

"An embarrassing amount of it, yes." He gave Evelyn a broad wink. "What account did you need me to work on today?"

Evelyn's lips pursed in thought. "Hmm. Well, Viv had to leave early yesterday. Her husband's brother got into an accident, and her wife is still out of the country visiting _her_ family."

"Ah, poor thing. So the de Chalons file, then?" Dorian clicked his tongue on his teeth. "That can be a beast of an account. I'll get right on it."

"Thank you, Dorian," Evelyn said, sounding relieved, then glared at him for good measure. "Just don't stay so late again. I saw the timestamp on the Theirin report, you know. Stop that."

"Yes, ma'am," Dorian replied, then nodded to Josephine. "Ms. Montilyet. Don't think I didn't see you there, hmm?"

"Mr. Pavus," she said gravely, though with a twinkle in her eye. "It is good to see you smiling again."

He chuckled. "It is good to smile again. I am sorry to have worried anyone."

Evelyn's expression softened. "You've had a rough time of it of late."

Everyone in the room knew, of course, that Dorian had had a bit more than simply a _rough time of it,_ but they also knew Evelyn's mastery of the understatement. Knowing her as he did, Dorian knew quite well what Evelyn truly meant, and was grateful for it. "Well, hopefully it's all uphill from here," Dorian said warmly. "In the meantime, I'll get working on the de Chalons account." With a final little wave to them both, he pulled back and sauntered back to his desk.

And yet, the overheard conversation lingered in his mind. Even as he set to work on the immaculately organized client file--unsurprising, considering it was Vivienne's client--his gaze would occasionally dart to the bulletin board by the water cooler--or more specifically, to a new flyer quite similar to the one he'd taken earlier. The nagging rose in the back of his mind, refusing to leave him alone, until finally he made a little disgusted noise and stood, determined to at least put the worming little worry to rest.

As he moved to the cooler, ostensibly to get some water, he heard someone call his name. Turning to the approaching woman, he smiled warmly. "Mae, darling! How are--"

She reached out and seized his chin, interrupting his words as she tilted his head this way and that, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Hmm. You _seem_ to be breathing."

 _Uh oh._ "Ah, prodigiously so, in fact. Is that a problem?"

"Only if you have a good reason to explain why you never replied to Felix's text message," Mae said sternly, crossing her arms across her chest as she tapped her foot expectantly. "He's been worried sick about you, and when you didn't come in to work yesterday..."

Dorian's eyes widened. "Oh, _Maker,_ poor Felix. I'll call him right away," Dorian said hurriedly. "I promise."

"How did you get so distracted?" Mae asked, unrelenting. "We were scared that you'd holed yourself away with a bottle again. You don't _look_ like it, but..."

"I'm fine," he said quickly, "I got some help."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? From who?"

Dorian reached out and tapped the replacement flyer. "Ms. Montilyet's excellent list here. Half a bottle of wine was apparently the sweet spot between despair and courage, and I called a number on the list."

Her eyes narrowed for a few moments, then glanced at the list. Finally she gave a long sigh and hauled him into a death grip version of a hug. "Don't scare us like that, all right? It was bad enough when we had to take you to the hospital," she whispered in his ear. "There's not many of us left, you know. The ones from the homeland."

Wrapping his arms around her in return, he embraced her tightly. "I won't. I promise."

After a shuddering breath and an extra squeeze, she finally let him go. "Well. Go ahead and call Felix. His shift doesn't start for another hour or two. I know he'll want to hear from you."

"I will. I promise," he repeated.

"You're making an awful lot of promises," she warned him, eyes gleaming a bit. "Make sure you keep them. Oh, and you'd better make one more promise."

His eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"You _will_ come to my Satinalia party the first night." When Dorian pretended to look for an easy exit, she rolled her eyes and batted his arm lightly. "Oh, stop that. You haven't been to one of my parties for _years_ because of other commitments." She twined her fingers together and framed her face with them, batting her eyes at him. "Pleeeease?"

He sighed wearily. "You're terrible."

"I know."

"The _worst."_

"I know."

"You are flagrantly using my guilt for your own malfeasant ends."

"I know."

He glared at her. "And it's working."

Her lips spread in a wide grin. "I know."

In a last ditch effort, he tried to appeal to her better nature. "You _know_ how I feel about Satinalia."

"I remember, Dorian. I just think you’re being silly about it."

 _“Silly? Me?”_ He humphed and hawed, but after a bit more grumbling and mumbling, he finally heaved a sigh and gave in. _"Fiiiiine."_

With a laugh, she pulled him into another hug, though this one wasn’t quite so tight. "So you'll be there?"

"Yes, you horrible little minx, I'll be there. I'll even bring some _quality_ wine."

"Now who's the terrible one?" she asked with a laugh. "Besides, Varric is procuring the drinks from those black market contacts of his, and Felix will be making them, so at least you won't have to worry about their _quality."_

Feeling much better about the prospect already, he straightened. "Ah, excellent."

"You're never going to forgive me for making you drink boxed wine, are you?" she teased him.

"Absolutely not," he declared. "Some things are utterly unforgivable, you know, and forcing a delicate flower such as myself to endure the atrocity that is _wine in a box_ is certainly among the _most_ untenable."

She laughed, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Welcome back, Dorian," she murmured, then turned and walked away.

His brow furrowed. _Welcome back?_ Had he truly acted so different of late?

Shaking his head, he glanced at the bulletin board, his eyes lingering on the flyer and the list of numbers upon it. He quickly found the number he'd dialed--or at least, _almost_ the number he'd dialed, one of the few that was a local number rather than a toll-free number. He stared at it for a long time as the realization slowly crept over him that one of the numbers of the number _he_ had dialed was wrong.

Which meant he hadn't called a helpline at all.

Which meant he'd poured out his life and all his problems to a complete stranger who, for whatever reason, had decided to help him.

Which meant that, more than ever, Dorian _needed_ to learn the man's identity.

He dashed back to his seat, but as his hand closed over the phone, a pang of guilt rose within again as he remembered his promise to Mae. Taking a deep breath, he sat down and quickly dialed Felix's number before he could betray his promise, despite how much he desperately needed to learn the truth about the mysterious man he'd called.

But the thought lingered, even as he gave his apologies to Felix: who was he?

And why had he helped Dorian?


	4. No Capes

Cullen hissed in pain as the cloth drenched in rubbing alcohol dug deep into the bullet wound. “Careful!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Garrett scolded him, the light tone belying the worry in his eyes. “It’s only your thigh.”

“Of my bad leg,” Cullen reminded him, wincing as Garrett continued to clean the wound.

Garrett blanched. “Oh, right. Damn, I forgot. Sorry. It’s just you move so well that most of the time I can’t tell.”

With a sigh, Cullen let his head fall onto the floor of the van on the table. “Just get it out,” he groaned, reaching out to grab what he could as he braced himself against what Garrett had to do.

At least Garrett had developed into an efficient field medic, as evidenced by the mere minute it took for him to finish the job of cleaning and extraction. The flushing out of the wound and final sewing took a little while longer, but in the end, Cullen knew that he would mostly just feel sore for a few days as the wound healed. A few blue cigarettes would help the healing process along the way, and knowing that they’d earned themselves a hefty bonus with Isabela’s genius data acquisition didn’t hurt, either. “What about you?”

“Isabela sucked it out while we were waiting for you to finish cleaning up,” Garrett said offhandedly. When Cullen gave him a _look,_ he said, “All right, all right, she did it the right way, don’t worry. I’m not going to get infected again.”

Cullen grunted and pushed himself into a seated position, gingerly poking at his throbbing thigh. “It’s a good dressing,” he noted. “Though it’s been a while since both of us got hit.”

“It’s also been a while since we’ve hit one of those gatling traps, too,” Garrett reminded him. “Good thing your aim is as good as it is.”

“That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?” Cullen asked with a grin.

“Oh, I _definitely_ like a man who knows how to use his weaponry,” Garrett chuckled, then leaned in and claimed a heated kiss from Cullen.

Though his heart did speed up a bit from sheer adrenaline and all-too-familiar lust that usually lingered after a battle, Cullen put a hand on Garrett’s chest and pushed him back gently--after the kiss came to a natural end, anyway. After all, it _was_ a fairly normal after-effect of a tight fight for both of them. “Probably not a good idea right now,” he told Garrett with a husky chuckle. “We _are_ in the middle of a getaway, you know.”

“I know you’re right, but dammit if I want to keep going anyway,” Garrett growled, tugging Cullen into another savage kiss as his hand dipped down to stroke Cullen’s inner thigh. When the van made a sharp right turn, however, Garrett swore and quickly put the rest of the medical equipment into the med bag. “I’d better go check on Isabela. You stay here. If I knock three times, shoot anyone who tries to open the back doors.”

Cullen gave him a mini-salute. “Got it.” As Garrett slipped through the narrow door into the front compartment of their modified van, Cullen tugged his pistol loose from his holster and gave it a once over to make sure it was ready, if need be.

He was still heated, though, enough that his hand slid between his legs and idly began to stroke. It wasn’t that the job had gone poorly--far from it, in fact, since they’d taken down all their primary _and_ secondary targets as well as acquired the data. No, it was just the rush of danger more than anything, and the rush of knowing that he’d survived the battle after. He’d felt something similar in previous jobs, of course, but an actual injury always somehow made it harder.

Or at least, made _him_ harder.

For some reason, however, it wasn’t to Garrett or Isabela that his thoughts turned as he stroked himself, but the dark, often lonely voice of a man whose face he’d never seen, and whose name he didn’t know. It surprised him just how clearly he remembered the sound of the man’s chuckles and heartfelt sighs, and the way his voice dropped in pitch when amused.

It wasn’t until the van suddenly jerked to the left that Cullen was pulled back into the present, and he jerked his hand away with the abrupt realization of just how distracted he’d become. Even as he frowned and focused on the back doors of the van, however, he felt something vibrate deep in his jacket.

His hand shot up and extracted the source before he could really think, an action which left him staring blankly at the nameless number dancing on his phone’s screen. His cheeks darkened as soon as he realized _who_ was calling, and _what_ Cullen had been doing moments earlier.

On the other hand, there was no way in the Void he was going to pass up another opportunity to talk to the man.

After he tapped the screen to answer and brought the phone to his ear, however, the call took an unexpected turn.

“Who are you?”

Cullen blinked. It was the same man, but his voice was...different. Less lost and more certain, and definitely a departure from the almost waifish loneliness of before.

“I...take it that the time for anonymity is over?” Cullen asked cautiously.

“Well, for one, you’re not who I thought you were,” the other man replied.

Finally glad to ask the burning question, Cullen gave in to his impulses. “Who _did_ you think I was? I can only guess.”

“A help hotline,” the man said. “You know. The ones you call so people can talk you out of rash decisions and help you find resources to feel better. That sort of thing.”

Cullen blinked. “Why did you think I was--”

“Someone posted a list, and I got one of the numbers wrong,” the man explained. “The wrong number was yours, which I called at random.”

“Twice,” Cullen reminded him with a half-grin.

“Yes, yes, well, I wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t so blasted charming,” the other man said acidly.

“Charming? Me?” Cullen snorted. “Obviously you haven’t met me in person.”

There was a hesitation on the other end. “Ah. Well. I admit I was wondering if it were possible to do so.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose. “Um. Pardon?”

“You’re not some counselor who has a reason not to meet with someone, are you?” the man ventured.

 _Not anymore._ “Not really, no.” Cullen licked his lips, pondering what he should do. Abruptly he blurted, “Cullen. Cullen Rutherford. That’s my name, I mean.”

“Cullen.” Maker, the way the man said his name! It shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it was, but somehow he managed it. “That’s good to know.” There was a slight hesitation and the soft sound of someone clearing his throat. “My name is Dorian. Ah, Dorian Pavus.”

“Dorian.” Yes, the name suited that voice quite well, for some reason Cullen couldn’t quite put his finger on. “It’s nice to be introduced finally.” He straightened and planted his left foot hard onto the floor of the van as it swerved to one side with a squeal of brakes.

“Was that brakes? You’re not driving, are you?” Dorian asked, tone clearly alarmed.

“No, no, I’m a passenger,” Cullen quickly assured him. “We just had to avoid something in the road.” _Hopefully it wasn’t anything serious,_ he fretted as he checked his pistol once more.

“Ah. Perhaps I should call back at a more opportune time, then?” Dorian suggested. “I wouldn’t want to cause any distraction on a difficult road.”

Much as he _wanted_ to talk to the man _now,_ Cullen had to admit that delaying the call was the more sensible option. After a few quick mental calculations, he said, “I will be free in about three hours. Perhaps you could call then?”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll be off work by then myself,” Dorian replied. “Then it’s a date, hmm?”

 _A date._ It couldn’t be that, of course, since it was only a phone call, but...Cullen bit his lower lip. Well. Maybe it _could._ Depending on what they talked about. “A date, then. I’ll speak with you later.”

“Later, Cullen,” Dorian said with that sultry chuckle of his, then disconnected.

Cullen let his head fall back against the partition separating him from the driver’s compartment and took a deep breath. “This has been the strangest week,” he murmured as he shoved the phone back into his vest.

And, apparently, about to get even stranger--or at least, more exciting--as the van screeched to a halt. Three loud knocks echoed from where Garrett sat before Cullen heard short spates of gunfire echo around him. Pushing aside any thoughts of Dorian, Cullen calmly made sure his rifle was within reach before he cocked his pistol and trained it on the van doors as something heavy started to pound on them.

When the doors finally burst open and Cullen found his first target, the last thought before the battle-logic took over was that he hoped he lived long enough to meet Dorian in person.


	5. Come What May

When Cullen didn't answer his phone the first time Dorian called, the pit of his stomach twisted. After the ringing extended without even a prompt to leave a voicemail, Dorian finally sighed and disconnected, wondering if he'd pinned too much on the _phone date_ he'd arranged without much forethought.

_It's probably for the better,_ he told himself as he tossed the phone onto the couch. _It's too soon after Rilienus, anyway. He'd probably just be a rebound, if it even got that far._

The litany of excuses continued as he stood and moved to the wine cellar closet, stepping inside to consider his options. A few minutes of internal debate had him picking out the last bottle of wine left from his family's vineyard. As he stared in the bottle in his hand, his thumb idly stroked the logo with a sad smile. "Perhaps it is time," he mused, then hefted it more securely in his hand and grabbed a glass before exiting the closet entirely.

After grabbing some cheese to go with his wine, he settled on the couch again and arranged everything to be in easy reach. A few slices of cheese and some wine later left him feeling a bit more melancholy, but in that deliciously drowsy way that preceded anything painful. Indeed, when the phone suddenly chirped to announce a new text, it started him out of half-doze.

Grabbing his phone, he blinked his eyes clear as he opened the message, puzzled by the unfamiliar number shown.

Dorian stared at the messages as they came in, a tingle spreading over his scalp and down his arms as a quiet excitement filled him. Taking a deep breath, he quickly tapped a response.

He waited for Cullen's response, not realizing that he held his breath until a new message popped up.

Without pausing to think, Dorian tapped the unfamiliar number, initiating the call before Cullen could do the same. When Cullen's now-familiar voice answered, the tingling spread down Dorian's spine and pooled in the base of his stomach. "I'm glad to know I wasn't forgotten," he murmured, a smile tugging on his lips.

Cullen chuckled, a low sound that did wonders for the pool of delicious tension pulsing in Dorian's middle. "Never that, I promise."

"I am foolishly glad that you had another phone at your disposal," Dorian admitted. "Selfish of me, I know, but I have rather been looking forward to hearing your voice again."

"Me as well," Cullen said with a fervency that was more than a little flattering. "For a moment there, I wasn't sure everything would line up properly."

Dorian gave a soft chuckle as his finger lightly traced the rim of his glass. "A lot of stars seem to have aligned for us to connect. I admit, I'm a bit curious about you. I've poured my life's story at your feet, but all I know about you is that your voice is by far one of the most remarkable things I have heard in a long time."

After a silent pause, a hushed laugh sounded in his ear. "Odd. I was thinking the same about your voice, honestly."

A smile came to Dorian's lips. _Well, then._ "Oh? That sounds promising, indeed."

"Promising for what?" Cullen asked, though his tone indicated that he understood quite well what Dorian meant.

"Promising for what I hope is to _come."_ It would have been impossible not to put a slight emphasis on the last word, so Dorian didn't even try, letting it fall as a subtle question.

He heard a swift inhalation, followed by the sound of cloth rustling, as if Cullen were shifting in place. Just when Dorian thought that perhaps he'd pushed a bit too far, or gone beyond what Cullen had had in mind for this _date,_ he heard Cullen say in a low, velvety voice, "That sounds intriguing. I believe I could _rise_ to the occasion.”

Dorian closed his eyes and slowly licked his lips. _Maker._ Was he really doing this? With a man he hadn't even met yet? For that matter, he had no clue what the man even looked like. All he knew was that Cullen had shown tremendous sympathy when there had been no reason to do so, and had a voice that would tempt the gods themselves. "I do hope you are _up_ to the challenge, Cullen."

The low chuckle which answered his words certainly warmed Dorian in all the right ways, and the sound of cloth rustling conjured up all sorts of _fascinating_ mental images. "I’m up for anything at the moment, come what may.”

A shiver ran down Dorian’s spine, an electric thrill which settled into the pit of his stomach. Setting his glass aside, Dorian spread his legs a bit, smoothing his hand over the growing bulge between his legs. “I believe we will be able to come to a consensus, yes.”

He heard some more rustling, and a creak of some sort--probably furniture, followed by a noise that was _clearly_ the sound of a zipper. “You drive a hard bargain, you know.”

Flicking the button of his trousers open, Dorian said, “Hard is certainly my intention.” As he dragged his zipper down, he heard Cullen shift again, accompanied by another creaking sound. “For both of us.”

“Good. I’d hate to think I was doing this alone,” Cullen said with a throaty chuckle. The sound ended with a soft moan, and Dorian wrapped his hand around his now-hard length as he pictured Cullen doing the same. Then, to his surprise, Cullen said, “Close your eyes.”

Dorian did so, leaning his head back on the couch as he stroked steadily. “They’re closed.”

“Imagine me right there beside you,” Cullen breathed. “What would you do to me?”

A light shudder ran through Dorian’s body. “I would straddle you,” he murmured. “Knees on the outside of yours, pressing my body against you, my hands running through your hair.”

Cullen’s abrupt inhalation was satisfying, as vivid a reaction as Dorian could hope. “Our lips would meet in a hungry kiss, and I would savor each moment they are locked together.”

_A kiss?_ The idea startled Dorian, since most of his incidental trysts had never really involved a lot of kissing. Lips and tongue were generally reserved for _other_ duties, with kissing being a distant sort of intimacy he’d rarely found a desire to tread, at least until Rilienus. But Cullen? No, he would be an entirely different sort of kiss: hard alternating with tender, lingering and certain, and definitely, _entirely,_ intended to please them _both._

The surge between his legs at the thought of kissing Cullen that way made Dorian moan with abandon, his hips moving upwards of their own volition as his imagined Cullen’s lips nibbling his own.

_Maker._

“I would rip open your shirt,” Dorian managed breathlessly as his hand stroked and squeezed. “My tongue would explore every inch of your chest, sucking and licking and biting as my hands slowly slide downwards.” A flood of satisfaction--and something far more primal--filled him as the words elicited a long, low moan from Cullen.

But Cullen wasn’t done _yet._

“I would lift you up as I stood,” Cullen said in a husky voice, “and find the nearest wall to pin you against. There I would dispense with the pleasantries along with our clothes and have my way with you, starting with your lips and working my way downward. I would claim every part of you with kisses, neglecting not even a single inch, until finally at the last I would suck the very tip of your pleasure between my lips and make you _sing.”_

Dorian’s eyes squeezed shut even more tightly as he felt liquid escape the _tip of his pleasure,_ his mind easily able to picture and almost _feel_ everything exactly what Cullen had described. A sudden brash desire rolled over him, and he gasped, “Do you want me to send you a--” His voice faltered just shy of saying the word _picture,_ but when Cullen moaned a lusty _Yes,_ Dorian didn’t even hesitate. The picture was taken and sent, all without interrupting the phone call.

“Perfect.” Something about the way he said the word made Dorian’s hips edge upwards once more, especially when he heard Cullen fumbling with his phone for a few moments before it chirped in his ear about an incoming text.

Greedily Dorian opened it, eyes widening at the glory contained in the picture. It certainly fueled a whole _new_ set of fantasies, especially since the picture managed to capture the moisture glistening at the tip, and with a soft moan, Dorian tore his eyes away so he could lift the phone to his ear. “You are _glorious,”_ he told Cullen, breath coming in shorter pants as he felt himself edging closer to the finish. “If you were here, I would wrap my lips around you in return and take us both to new heights.”

_“Maker,”_ Cullen groaned, and now Dorian could _hear_ the sound of flesh on flesh through the line as Cullen’s hand quickened to move as fast as Dorian’s in its urgent task. “The thought of being with you, touching you, stroking you… I--I can’t--”

As Cullen’s breathing turned into a series of shuddering moans intermixed with a stifled cry of release, Dorian felt his own climax surge up and through him. The pleasure washed over him with the intensity of a punch, and Dorian collapsed back into the couch, feeling drained. His orgasms had _never_ been like that before, not even when he’d snuck out of his home as a teen to explore the forbidden. Sweat dotted his brow and plastered his hair to his forehead, but a smile curved his lips even as he panted, _“Maker._ That was incredible.” He felt more alive than he had in _years._

And it was all due to one accidental phone call. Thank the Maker indeed for miracles, however random they might seem, because Cullen seemed to be an answer to prayers he’d never uttered.


	6. Coming Down

Cullen listened to the panting on the other end with a smile, fighting his own battle to regain his breath and his wits. There was something about this man…

 _“Maker._ That was incredible,” Dorian groaned, and Cullen chuckled tiredly.

“I wholeheartedly agree.” All the pent up stress seething and twisting inside of Cullen felt as if it had simply floated away, freed along with his sexual frustration from earlier. Blinking to clear his vision, Cullen squinted at the clock on the wall as he struggled to make sense of it. Once it swam into focus, he found himself shocked how long he’d been _talking_ to Dorian.

“I’m glad to know I was not a source of disappointment,” Dorian said in a light tone. “That would be utterly devastating to contemplate.”

Cullen paused, trying to push past his growing exhaustion to take full stock of Dorian’s tone. There was definitely hurt there, something buried so deep that Cullen couldn’t tell if Dorian even knew it was there, but evident to a trained ear. Deciding he was far too tired to deal with it head on at the moment, Cullen continued the light tone and filed the remark away for later conversation. “I assure you, I was _not_ disappointed. Far from it. In fact, I would very much like to--” _do it again_ hovered on his lips, but he held the words back. Not because they weren’t true--he very _much_ wanted to do this again--but because it wasn’t _all_ he wanted to do. 

Which was why the next words to fall from his lips were, “--do it in person.”

As soon as he heard the words, he froze up, wondering if he were pushing too far, too fast, a worry which switched instantly to _knowing_ he was _definitely_ pushing too far, too fast. He heard Dorian take a swift breath and bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t scared the man away.

“I--Um.” As Dorian cleared his throat, Cullen felt his stomach plummet. Then Dorian laughed softly. “I was...about to say the same thing, actually. I was afraid of being too forward. After all, I don’t even know what you look like.”

 _“Most_ of me, anyway,” Cullen said with a chuckle, a rush of giddiness giving him a bit more courage than usual.

“Yes, well, I’ll admit, the part I _have_ seen is more than a bit enticing,” Dorian said in a velvety voice that made Cullen swallow hard. “But it would be nice to see the rest. Perhaps for the first night of Satinalia? A friend of mine has invited me to a party, but she wouldn’t mind if I bring a guest.”

It felt sudden, but sudden didn’t mean unwelcome--especially after what they’d just shared. He opened his mouth to accept, then hesitated as a fuzzy memory came through. “I wish I could,” he said sincerely, “but I already agreed to go to a different party.” One of Garrett’s old friends was hosting a party, in fact, though he couldn’t quite remember the host’s name. Maric? Something like that.

“Of course,” Dorian said quickly. “I understand. It is only a week away. However, Satinalia _does_ have more than one night…”

Cullen smiled and closed his eyes. “I would like nothing more,” he said urgently.

Details were quickly exchanged, a time and place agreed upon, and soon enough Cullen knew they had reached the end of their conversation--if for no other reason than Dorian was yawning every fifth word. After one particularly jaw-cracking example, Cullen chuckled softly and said, in a mock-stern tone, “Go to sleep, Dorian.”

“Yes, yes, I--” Another yawn. “I’m going now. Until next we speak.”

Cullen’s smile persisted as he stared at his phone for a moment, then set it onto the table next to the chair he sat in. Before he could look across the room, however, the occupant of the bed said, “Did you really have to do that in here?”

Ears suddenly burning, Cullen winced as chagrin claimed him. “They said you’d sleep until dawn.”

Garrett grunted. “I burn through drugs fast, remember? We found that out the hard way in Kirkwall.” 

As Garrett started to push himself upright, Cullen scrambled to his feet and hurried to the bedside. “Don’t you dare,” he scolded Garrett as he pushed him down on the bed. “We don’t want that gut wound to open again. They spent too long stitching you back up for you to undo all that work because you got impatient.”

“Fine, fine,” Garrett grumbled, visibly forcing himself to relax. “Ugh. Push the button for help, would you? We’ll see if I can persuade someone to give me some more painkillers.” He glanced at Cullen. “Here I sit, stabbed in the gut and perforated with bullet holes like a sieve, and _you’re_ still walking around without a care in the world.”

“You took out the worst ones before they opened the van, I guess,” Cullen said as he grabbed his phone and dragged the chair back across the room. “The only shots that might have really hurt me destroyed my phone instead.”

“Your priest phone,” Garrett noted, glancing at the one in his hand. “Guess the Maker was still looking out for you after all.”

Cullen gave a little shrug. “My argument was never with Him, and he knows it.”

“True.” Garrett’s eyelids fluttered shut. “So. This guy. Dorian. Tell me about him.” When Cullen opened his mouth, Garrett lifted a finger. “All of it, mind. Not just enough to placate me. All of it.”

“Or what?” Cullen asked with a smirk. “You’ll hit me with your IV?”

One of Garrett’s eyes opened into a slit. “Worse. I’ll tell Isabela you had phone sex in a hospital room.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen groaned, even though it was a silly threat, and they both knew it. “She’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“Exactly. Now _talk.”_

Settling back in his chair, Cullen steepled his hands in front of him as he collected his scattered thoughts. He knew where Garrett was coming from, since Garrett knew all too well where _Cullen_ had come from, so he knew where his friend’s concerns lay.

Thankfully, Cullen wouldn’t need to hide much of anything.

“It began with a phone call,” Cullen said with a smile, and internally added, _and a miracle._


	7. Almost There

“Here. Got something for you.”

Dorian turned himself from his contemplation of Mae’s astoundingly extensive collection of movies to look at the man who had joined him. “Hmm? Oh.” Taking the small bottle from the tall man, he turned it over and puzzled over the strange script. “Wait. Is this from--”

“Par Vollen,” Bull grunted. “Had to pull a lot of strings to get it here in time for Satinalia.”

“Or at all,” Dorian said, eyebrows rising. “It’s contraband, I thought.”

Bull gave a one-shouldered shrug--possibly to match his self-proclaimed ‘one-eyed winks.’ “That’s why I had to pull a few strings,” he said with a grin. “It’s worth it, though. It’ll put hair on your chest. Come on, let’s go to the balcony. It’s getting crowded in here.”

Which was why Dorian had been contemplating the movie collection, of course, as Bull would know. “Sounds good. I could use some fresh air.”

A few minutes later saw them relaxing on the balcony, the sounds of the party well behind and below them, but not overwhelming them. The choking and coughing of Dorian’s first taste of Qunari brew had passed, and he was actually starting to enjoy the hellish stuff. Both of them leaned on the railing, though Bull’s weight made it creak a bit, as they took small sips from the precious Qunari ale. “So how’re you doing? Evelyn says you’ve been practically back to normal the last few days.”

“Things are looking up, yes.” Dorian smiled faintly as he looked out over the party. People were certainly having a good time, even though it was still fairly early with more guests yet to arrive. “It’s been quite unexpected, really.”

Bull nudged him with an elbow. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Giving the man a sidelong glance, Dorian pretended to mull it over for a moment. “I probably _should,”_ he mused. “Or you might go sneaking through my phone again.”

“Hey, you _said_ I could, and it turned out to be a good idea,” Bull protested. “I know a lot of people who know a lot of people, and sometimes that knowledge is useful, you know?”

Dorian chuckled as he took his next sip, then looked ahead and smiled. “I may have...met someone.”

“Already?” 

The shade of caution in Bull’s tone wasn’t unexpected, given a couple of the bumps in the road Dorian had gone through previously, so he didn’t take umbrage at it. Instead he simply gave Bull a wink. “Yes. Though I haven’t met him.”

“Oh, now this I _gotta_ hear,” Bull said with a grin. “Come on. Tell me everything.”

So Dorian did, nursing his Qunari brew as he relayed everything leading up to the first call with Cullen, and everything that came after. Bull interrupted a few times to ask some pointed questions, but overall he kept his opinions to himself until the end. By the time Dorian had finished telling Bull about that first ‘date’--albeit in a very _limited_ fashion--a thoughtful look had settled on Bull’s face. “Cullen Rutherford, huh?”

“Yes.” Suddenly Dorian blinked as the nature of Bull’s tone caught up with his brain. “Wait. Do you know him?”

_“Of_ him.” He gave Dorian a look. “Did you do a search on him?”

“A...small one,” Dorian said, feeling obscurely guilty that he’d done even that. “His name turned up a few different results. Some priest that retired to a monastery a few years ago. A middle-aged community activist who works with the homeless. A Chantry soldier who died in battle over ten years ago in the mess down in Ferelden. That sort of thing.” A little smirk came to Dorian’s face. “And I definitely don’t think I’m dealing with a monk, so I can rule out at least two of those options. And I wouldn’t mind being with a community activist, honestly, if that turns out to be him. It would explain why I thought he was a counselor, if an odd one, wouldn’t it?”

Bull grunted, but didn’t comment on that. Instead, he asked, “And the phone numbers?”

Dorian frowned. “Hmm. I didn’t even think to check those.”

“It doesn’t matter. If this guy is the one I’m thinking of--and it probably is--let’s just say that he and I share a few things in common. Not this part,” Bull added, touching the base of the scar beneath his missing eye. “But other things? Yeah.” He turned his head to look at Dorian. “So after that first date, did he ever get in touch with you again?”

“Many, many times,” Dorian said with a smile. “We talk. We text. Once or twice we’ve watched the same movie together. It feels...amazing, honestly. I didn’t realize what I was missing with Rilienus until I found it with someone else.”

“Oh?” Bull shifted a bit, rising into a long stretch that made a few of his joints crack. “What do you mean?”

Reaching for the right words, Dorian frowned in thought. “Well, with Rilienus, there was a lot of… a lot of clinging to the past, I suppose. We had a _lot_ in common, or so I thought. We were from the same country, we shared a lot of memories about the city where we grew up, we both worked for small and exclusive firms, we seemed to have the same goals in life. But...there was a whole lot I _didn’t_ know, and didn’t know how wonderful it was to know. Something as simple as the other person asking me what my favorite movie was. I mean, I knew _his,_ but Rilienus never knew mine. Little things like that.”

“Those _little things_ can be pretty damn important if you want the relationship to weather a few storms,” he pointed out. “Lust is nice, and love is nicer, but friendship has to be in the mix or at the end of the day, you just have an attractive fuck buddy. Maybe for some people that’s enough for a while, or it’s what they think they want, but in the end, it’s not enough.” His face softened into a smile. “I almost found that out the hard way. It’s a good thing Evelyn is even more stubborn than I am.”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose. “What? You two have always been perfect for each other.”

“Oh, she can wear a rope well and then turn around and kick me in the ass when I need it, but if that’s all we were to each other, we’d have moved on. And to be honest, that’s all I thought relationships _could_ be. You know that cult I came from?”

“Only as well as anyone outside of it could,” Dorian admitted. “Love wasn’t a thing there, was it?”

“Oh, you could _love_ someone. You just couldn’t fuck ‘em. Love was pure, spiritual, not to be darkened by the carnality of lust.” Bull shrugged, dismissing it as he did most of his past. “So after I had sex with Evelyn, I figured that’s all it would ever be. She figured out how to get through my thick skull, luckily, or I’d have never learned the joys of being a father.”

Dorian laughed. “And you’d never have learned the agonies of trying to wrangle twin toddlers.”

“Worth it,” Bull declared. “Definitely. No question.” He ducked down and whispered, “Evelyn’s not around, right?” When Dorian shook his head, Bull sighed. “Yeah, that was a bit of a learning curve, I’ll admit. But it still worked out, and I don’t regret an instant of it. Well, except for the time that Max got a hold of a spicy burrito that disagreed with him. He was only four, but for a day or two he became nothing more than a shit factory.”

“Bad?” Dorian guessed.

Bull’s face twisted in a grimace. “Worse than you can imagine. I swear, dealing with the aftermath of _that_ was worse than all the fighting I did in Par Vollen combined.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dorian said, shuddering in sympathy.

“Yeah, well, those days are behind us, unless Evelyn decides it’s time for another one.”

Dorian gave him a shrewd look. “Doesn’t sound like you’d have much of an objection.”

“Maybe not,” Bull conceded. “But only if she wants one, too.”

“The perfect answer,” Dorian laughed, then shook his bottle. “I’m out of beer, though.”

“Yeah, me too. Hang tight, I’ll go grab us some more. It may take a bit, since I had to hide them so Mae wouldn’t put them out for all and sundry.” Bull gave Dorian one of his famous one-eyed winks. “Be back in a bit.”

After Bull left, Dorian leaned on the railing again, letting his eyes wander over the stars idly as he let his mind drift. The party was nice, but he was _really_ looking forward to _tomorrow_ night, when he would meet Cullen for a nice, intimate dinner and see if the roiling chemistry they had on the phone carried over to the physical realm.

Oddly, though, Dorian almost didn’t care. They’d grown so close so quickly that he suspected their friendship would remain even if it turned out that the spark wasn’t there otherwise. It was a comforting feeling, even for someone who already had as many good friends as Dorian did. Regardless of the rest, there remained a resonance between himself and Cullen that felt _special._

As his mind wandered, the sounds of the party rose from below as more people arrived and spilled out into the backyard. One voice in particular caught his attention. _Varric, yes. Mae’s on and off boyfriend._ Curious, he focused a bit more on the conversation.

“--glad you could make it, Hawke,” Varric was saying. “I see Isabela found the bar already.”

“The way you stock a bar, can you blame her?” the unfamiliar voice of Hawke asked with a chuckle. “Besides, she promised to bring me a little something to dull the pain. Alcohol’s good for that, most days.”

“Is it still that bad?” Varric asked, tone clearly concerned.

“Probably. The doctors really didn’t want me to check myself out. But dammit, Varric, a promise is a promise and I promised you I’d be here for your party. Ah, thank you, love.”

“The strongest that cute bartender could make,” a woman--presumably Isabela--answered. “What’s his name?”

“Felix,” Varric answered. “He turned a degree in mathematics into a lucrative bartending career. The man can do things with alcohol that even the gods envy.”

“I’d have to agree there,” Hawke replied with a grunt. “This is fantastic. What is it?”

“He called it a Tevinter Tug and Blow,” Isabela told him with a laugh.

“I like it even more now,” the man said. “I wonder if he has something suitably Rivaini for you. Hey, Cullen, you should try this. It might even help you relax a little.”

Dorian straightened so fast he almost knocked the wind out of himself. _Cullen?_

“I’m fine,” a strikingly familiar voice replied, though he sounded a bit grumpy. “I’m more worried about you.”

Whatever else may have followed, Dorian didn’t hear. He was already gone from the balcony and in a rush down the stairs, heart pounding and mouth dry.

It seemed he wouldn’t have to wait as long as he’d feared to meet Cullen Rutherford.


	8. Satinalia Surprise

“I’m fine, Cullen,” Garrett protested.

“And also only a few hours out of the hospital,” Cullen reminded him.

“So he still thinks he can make you listen to common sense?” Varric chimed in. “I’m impressed. He’s known you for years now.”

Garrett shot an irritated look at Varric. “Oh, shut up. Or at least get me a Tug and Blow _before_ you start insulting me like that.”

Realizing that this was one battle he definitely wasn’t going to win, Cullen pushed himself from his chair. “I’ll get you another one,” he said in resignation. “Just promise me you won’t start dancing or something equally stupid.”

“Hey, now, _there’s_ an idea,” Garrett said with a speculative expression on his face, then made a pained grunt when Isabela’s elbow connected none-too-lightly with his shoulder. “No, no, you’re right. Probably a bad idea.”

_“Probably?”_ Cullen, Varric, and Isabela chorused with varying degrees of incredulity.

Garrett rolled his eyes with extreme exaggeration, a grin stuck on his face. “All right, all _right!_ No dancing. I promise.”

Isabela grabbed his chin and made him look at her. “Your first dance had better be with me in bed,” she growled. “Nothing else until then.”

Varric and Cullen exchanged a knowing glance as Garrett immediately looked contrite. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a nod, Isabela let him go and stood. “I’ll go with you. I’m curious if that cutie has something Rivaini for me. If not, maybe I could inspire him to make one.”

“Hey!” Garrett protested. “I thought--”

Isabela sent him a saucy wink. “I said _you_ can’t dance until you’ve danced with me. I never said anything about _my_ dancing.”

As they walked away, Cullen heard Varric laugh behind them. “She’s right, you know, Hawke. Besides, maybe she’ll let you watch.”

As Garrett grumbled under his breath, Cullen followed Isabela through the crowd to the makeshift bar at the far end of the backyard. “Does Varric always call him Hawke?”

“Who, Garrett? Yeah.” Isabela gave a careless little shrug. “Varric served in Garrett’s squad back during the troubles in Kirkwall, and Garrett was the squad leader. I guess it stuck.”

“That makes sense,” Cullen mused, looking around a bit apprehensively. “I didn’t realize that Varric had so many friends here, though.”

She gave him an understanding look, then leaned in and took his hand lightly in hers. “Need to get away for a bit?” she murmured. “I can make sure Garrett doesn’t do anything stupid for a while. You can go get some fresh air or whatever you need.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“We all bear our scars differently, love,” she told him. “Go on. I can get the drinks on my own.”

Giving her hand a grateful squeeze, he turned and worked his way through the crowd. Most of them blended into a faceless mass as his anxiety slowly swelled within. When the crowd’s movements shoved him into someone--a beautifully handsome man with flowing black hair and a focused expression on his face--he couldn’t manage much more than a smile in apology before the same crowd separated them again.

Eventually he found himself outside in front of the house, walking down the long driveway leading to the mansion where the party was taking place as he took long, slow breaths to get his heartbeat under control again. He was certain that Garrett wouldn’t have pushed him so hard to come along if he’d known how many people would be here, since he trusted his friend to remember how he reacted to crowds. His hand reached down to absently rub at his scarred leg, fighting as always _not_ to remember the explosion in the crowd in Kirkwall which had permanently damaged it. Instead, Cullen concentrated on lungfuls of cool, clean night air and much more recent memories, ones involving a sultry voice on the other end of so many calls they all blurred together now. 

Well, except _the_ call. Their first date. He shivered as he pulled his fur-lined coat tightly around him. No, that would always stand out as something rather exceptional, even if they hadn’t pursued it again.

_Yet,_ anyway.

The pleasant thoughts helped to drive the last remnants of his crowd-triggered anxiety away, and a genuine, if wan smile, came to his face as he looked out over the expansive grounds and then up at the stars. They had been a constant friend over the years, and he let their quiet twinkling bring him back to the ground once more.

Cullen wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but when the silence of the night was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to face the sound with complete ease. His eyebrows rose as he recognized the same handsome man that he’d been so unceremoniously shoved into earlier walking towards him, though the expression on his face seemed uncertain as he came to a halt a few feet away. 

Clearing his throat, Cullen offered a smile in greeting. “Can I help you?”

Suddenly the man chuckled, a familiar dark, velvety sound that caressed Cullen’s ears. “So. It _is_ you.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Cullen stepped forward. “Dorian?” he breathed.

“The very same,” the man said with a dazzling smile as he ventured closer, leaving bare inches between them. “I must admit, I hadn’t expected you to be here.”

“I could say the same.” Leaning in, Cullen reached up and cupped the man’s face with one hand, the movement as natural as breathing despite the fact this was, technically, their first meeting. As his hand settled on the warm skin, he felt an almost electric thrill go through him, and smiled. “I must say, this is a most welcome Satinalia surprise.”

“That it is. One might almost deem it a miracle.” Dorian’s eyes darted over Cullen’s face for a few moments before rising to meet his gaze. “And again, I must say you do not disappoint.”

Cullen chuckled, bringing his other hand up so he could hold Dorian’s face between his hands. “Good to know that neither of us do,” he murmured, then licked his lips before he added in a soft voice, “Dorian.” He said it just to say it, to see the man’s reaction when he spoke that name, and to attach the word all that more closely with the wonder that stood in front of him.

He felt Dorian’s hands settle on his hips as a smile came to the other man’s face. “Cullen,” he whispered in response.

Later, neither man could remember who shifted first. Both, however, clearly remembered the moment their lips touched for the first time. The kiss was light at first, tender with an aching awareness of the newness of it, of that trembling first step into a new aspect of the relationship which had grown over the last week. Soon enough, however, the tenderness gave way to the heat building between them, a heat so intense that Cullen felt the world melt away around them.

His hands sank into that long, luxurious hair, reveling in the silken feel as he pressed in to deepen the kiss. He felt Dorian respond in kind, rising up a little on his toes as he pressed their bodies together. The motion granted the kiss a greater touch of intimacy, a closeness which seemed more natural, more _right,_ than logic might suggest. 

It was, in short, perfect.

When their lips parted, neither man drew away, choosing instead to press their foreheads together as they savored the moment. Whatever might come, whatever they might experience together in the future, Cullen knew that he would forever treasure their first kiss without reservation.

“So,” Dorian finally murmured, “are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

Cullen chuckled as he reached down to twine their fingers together. “That depends on how late we stay up tonight, doesn’t it?”

Dorian’s eyes fluttered shut, and Cullen felt a shudder shimmy through his body. “Most definitely.”

As their lips met once more, Cullen spared a thought to hope that Garrett wouldn’t worry _too_ much when he didn’t return to the party. After that, however, all his thoughts turned back to Dorian.

And remained there for a long, long time thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite enjoy this AU and have a lot of ideas floating around for it. I have a suspicion I'll be back some day, but for now, this is it! A little fluffy 'how they met' story! Thank you so much for reading!


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